


attachment

by orphan_account



Series: sewn in [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Fingering, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 07:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13049541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He remembers Elias taking his glasses off, remembers kisses, remembers making embarrassingly desperate noises as Elias bit marks into his neck that he’ll struggle to hide later. He doesn’t quite remember how it progressed tothis.





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**Author's Note:**

> hi my middle name is 'self-indulgent'

Jon doesn’t entirely remember how he ended up like this; bent over Elias’ desk, cheek pressed into the wood while slicked fingers stretch him open until he feels wrung out with the need for more and Elias shushes him gently every time he tries to beg for it.

(he’s pretty sure he’s wanted for a murder Elias committed and, in an entirely separate concern, pretty sure the office door isn’t locked; somehow all of that pales in comparison to what he’s feeling)

He remembers wandering toward the institute without quite meaning to, knowing that he _shouldn’t_ but following a pull toward the Archives that hadn’t wanted to listen to reason or logic. Remembers Elias catching his wrist out of nowhere before he could reach the entrance, pulling him along through a back entrance Jon hadn’t known about and up to his office, shushing - quietly but _firmly_ \- any protests Jon tried to make.

After that, it’s something of a muddle. He remembers Elias taking his glasses off, remembers kisses, remembers making embarrassingly desperate noises as Elias bit marks into his neck that he’ll struggle to hide later. He doesn’t quite remember how it progressed to _this_.

He can’t entirely say he’s complaining.

Elias’ fingers curl inside of him and Jon fancies he can feel the Archives somewhere beneath them, pulsing somewhere inside his chest; or perhaps it’s his heartbeat, with him so strung out and oversensitive that every beat pulses inside every inch of his skin. Perhaps it’s both.

“You’re still too attached,” Elias says abruptly behind him, as if sensing the thoughts. “Like a bird that’s too afraid to leave the nest.”

The tone seems too close to fond in Jon’s addled brain to draw up the offense he suspects the words would otherwise, but he frowns and tries to turn his head to see Elias better. He gets a hand pushing his head back down for his troubles, and when it starts to pull back and Jon thinks about trying again, Elias just puts his hand back, a firm but gentle pressure against his skull that has Jon submitting without any further complaint. It’s almost pleasant-feeling, in a way, and between that and how much effort it feels to do much of anything when Elias’ fingers have been working inside him for what feels like hours, Jon can’t bring himself to fight it.

“You need to spend time away from the Archives,” Elias says after a few moments of silence. “Running back with no consideration of the consequences might feel better, but you cannot.”

Jon’s voice is hoarse when he protests, “You’re the one who made me the Archivist. That’s— that’s why it feels like this, isn’t it?”

There’s a sigh from behind him, and Elias pulls his fingers out slowly. Jon protests the loss, but Elias turns him until he’s straddling Elias’ lap, head pulled down against his shoulder, and he quiets after a moment.

“It is, yes,” Elias says, “But being the Archivist isn’t _just_ about the Archives.”

He doesn’t explain any further than that, and before Jon can ask he’s distracted by the sensation of something more substantial than Elias’ fingers pressed against him, and then by Elias pressing into him in a sharp motion that’s almost too much even after how long he was stretched open. Jon half-suspects it was an intentional distraction from any kind of useful answer, but after this long it was also a _welcome_ one.

Elias fucks him in a way that might best be described as _matter-of-factly_ , keeping up a steady rhythm that might make him seem totally unaffected if Jon couldn’t feel exactly how affected he is; if he didn’t have Elias’ cock slamming into him in a rhythm that’s steady but _harsh_ , that leaves him squirming atop Elias’ cock and making desperate little noises until he ends up with Elias’ hand clamped over his mouth to silence him.

(Jon doesn’t care to admit how much he enjoys the hand over his mouth, but he gets the feeling Elias knows anyway)

It doesn’t take long at that pace until Elias is tightening his grip and practically growling into Jon’s ear as he comes, and then he doesn’t even give Jon time to process before he’s pushing him off and up onto the desk again, on his back this time. Once Jon is there, Elias spreads Jon’s legs wide and just _watches_ him, and the fact that it seems as though his eyes are focused on Jon’s face doesn’t change the fact that Jon knows, somehow, that he can see everything as clearly as if his eyes were focused on every part of Jon at once. Between the intense gaze and how close he is to coming, Jon’s left squirming and trying half-heartedly to close his legs even as Elias holds his ankles in a firm grip and refuses to let him.

He can feel Elias’ come dripping out of him and he knows Elias can see it just as well as he can feel it, and it should be humiliating and, honestly, it _is_ , but that fact only makes it even worse.

(Elias doesn’t protest when Jon reaches up to cover his face, but the fact that _Jon_ can’t see anything has no impact on the knowledge that Elias can see _everything_ )

Jon doesn’t know how long that lasts, his whole body vibrating with tension and frustration and need while Elias just _watches_. But eventually Elias lets go of one of his ankles and leans in closer, and Jon feels the bite of cold metal against his inner thigh that quickly shifts into a _sharper_ bite than just cold, and it’s not that the sensation is _pleasurable_ so much as it’s overwhelming enough to send him over the edge anyway. The grip on his other ankle is quickly dropped so that Elias can clamp that hand over his mouth again, holding him there as he jerks his hips up and nearly sobs into Elias’ hand when whatever sharp thing pressed against his thigh doesn’t _move_ , so that he ends up jerking into it and making the pain worse.

When he finally comes down from his orgasm, Elias pulls his hand away from Jon’s mouth and Jon moves his own hands away from his eyes to look down and see Elias wiping clean a letter opener with a handkerchief he’s produced from who-knows-where. It’s white, leaves Jon’s blood stood out bright against the fabric, and he doesn’t quite dare to look down far enough to see the state of his thigh.

“Nothing too bad,” Elias assures him abruptly. “I suspect it’ll leave another scar, but…”

He doesn’t continue the sentence, apparently content to let Jon finish it for himself while Elias produces a first aid kit from one of his desk drawers and sets about cleaning it and putting a dressing over it.

“…better circumstances than the last lot, I suppose,” Jon settles on eventually, and Elias huffs out a breath through his nose that Jon thinks might have been a laugh.

“Rather.”

Once Elias has dressed the cut on his thigh and gotten his clothing back in order, slipping Jon’s glasses back onto his face last of all, Jon is left sitting on Elias’ desk and staring across at him, and… odd-feeling. He knows that he ought to leave, that he never should have come here in the first place, but where it was the feeling of needing to be near the Archives that brought him here, the feeling of needing to be near _Elias_ is what has him shivering miserably at the thought of leaving. Or, at the very least, of needing to be near _someone_ \- but Georgie won’t be home for hours yet and the idea of being entirely _alone_ right now bothers him more than the idea of loneliness has bothered Jon in years.

Elias watches Jon for long moments and then, pulling his chair back from the desk, guides Jon off the desk and down until he’s kneeling in the space underneath it, so that when Elias puts his chair back in its usual position Jon can rest his head on Elias’ knee.

“Only for a short while,” Elias tells him, but it’s early morning and, somehow, Jon suspects he’s not going to be made to move until Elias is ready to leave for the night.

(maybe it’s the fact that there are blankets arranged in the space under the desk and he can’t see any other reason for them to be there, or the fact that Elias doesn’t make any comment when Jon tucks himself up tight enough to curl into the cramped space and fall asleep on them; either way, he’s definitely not complaining)


End file.
